


Political Maneuvers

by fangirlandiknowit



Series: Spirk oneshots [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, fake engagement, it's the gay yearning my friends, post star trek beyond, trektober 2020 day 19: love confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27106369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlandiknowit/pseuds/fangirlandiknowit
Summary: When the Admiralty calls to tell Jim he has to get married for political reasons, Spock (logically) offers himself up as a candidate. He'd feel less guilty about accepting if Spock actually, you know, loved him back...
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Series: Spirk oneshots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022260
Comments: 61
Kudos: 516
Collections: Accidental Pet Names Collection, Trektober 2020





	Political Maneuvers

**Author's Note:**

> I made a [post](https://very-bad-poetry-captain.tumblr.com/post/628813441507934208/spirk-fic-ideas-for-aos-i-cant-get-out-of-my) on tumblr with fic ideas for AOS I couldn't get out of my head, and this one just wouldn't let me go. I desperately need them to have a happy ending after Beyond... Maybe one day I'll write the rest of them, too. 
> 
> Even though it's AOS, I think it might have more of a TOS feel (but that might be the tribble talking). I thought it fit with the Trektober 2020 theme "love confessions" so... here we go!!!

It’s a quiet shift on the bridge. Jim sits in the captain’s chair, listening to the hum of the engines and the murmurs of conversation, the planet below them bathed in red sands, dark brown forests, and murky waters. The science team has checked in on time each hour, no senior officers joining them this time. Jim is not so blue-eyed that he trusts the scans fully, but so far no dangerous life forms seem to inhabit the planet.

He glances to his right, Spock immersed in the data transferred from the away team to the tall screen in front of him. They’re a year out of Yorktown, and it’s almost time to start counting down the months for the end of their five-year mission. He likes to think he’s kept himself together fairly well, but there’s no stopping the way his eyes trail down Spock’s form. He snatches them back, turns to the planet and the stars like pinprick lights beyond it.

“Report, Mr. Spock,” he says, because idleness is a bad idea, apparently.

“The soil shows promising results, Captain. Animal life seems to thrive mostly in the trees, creating a most fascinating eco system as some trees are large enough to host what seems like generations of the same species.”

“Sounds like you’re having fun,” he teases, smiling at Spock’s affronted look. “I’m guessing you’ll be too busy for chess tonight?”

Spock nods, just like he thought. He pushes down the disappointment, and straightens up a little. He’s been prone to slouching lately, as Spock has pointed out on several occasions. Well, slouching more than usual, that is.

“It is imperative that I-“

“Captain,” Uhura interrupts them.

A chill runs down his spine – that’s the tone of voice she uses when someone really irritates her on the other line, and Jim is not prepared to deal with the admiralty today.

“Yes, lieutenant?” he answers, turning towards her. She’s got an expression matching the annoyance in her voice, fingers lightly pressed against her right ear. “How bad is it?”

“It’s Admiral Komack, sir.”

They share a look of mutual suffering, and Uhura rolls her eyes, her way of telling him to just deal with it.

“Alright,” he sighs, “patch it through. I’ll take it here on the bridge.”

“On screen.”

Jim barely manages to turn back around in time for Komack’s face to replace the planet below on the view screen. Maybe he should have taken it in his ready room, if only to avoid seeing his face so enlarged. He looks vaguely pissed off as always, and Jim privately thinks it might be because he doesn’t seem to be aging well.

“Captain Kirk,” he barks out, thick eyebrows frowning.

“Admiral.” He inclines his head, glancing at Spock when he comes to stand beside him. “What can I do for you?”

“I don’t know, Kirk. Maybe you can explain to me why I’ve spent weeks trying to manage an intense, at times violent, debate between several of the Federation’s most influential members’ ambassadors as to which one of them gets to secure your hand in a political marriage.”

Jim blinks, slowly. When he’s done, Komack is still on screen, and the silence on the bridge suggests he didn’t hear him wrong.

“Explain _what_ , Admiral?” he asks anyway, breaths turning a bit shallow.

“I’m sending over a list of candidates,” Komack says, waving a PADD at him before dropping it on the desk he sits by. “Trust me when I say I don’t enjoy relaying these news to you, but I got stuck playing diplomat on behalf of the ‘Fleet and no matter how many light years away you are… Well. Congratulations on your marriage, Captain.”

The entire bridge seems frozen, suspended in time. Not even a minute ago Jim was happily wasting away in the midst of his unrequited love, and now? Now he’s apparently got no free will left.

“Admiral, I must respectfully object to such treatment of a starship captain,” Spock breaks the stunned silence with, and there’s an edge to his tone that makes at least half the present crew shift in fear.

“And I must respectfully remind you of regulations, Officer.” There’s nothing respectful in Komack’s voice, but Jim raises a hand to prevent Spock from spitting out something potentially career-damaging.

“Do remind me,” Jim says, letting his hand brush Spock’s arm before falling back to the armrest. “I don’t remember anything about this in the regulations.”

Komack sighs, and for once, Jim thinks that maybe this isn’t all part of Komack’s personal aversion to his existence.

“We’re a peacekeeping institution, Captain. All of us must do our duty to ensure the Federation stays peaceful, do we not? Well, this is to keep the peace, as simple as that.”

Everyone stares at Jim. He’s privately thankful that Bones isn’t on the bridge at the moment. Spock is rigid enough for the both of them, a barely controlled explosion waiting to happen. He’s sure Spock could convince Komack that the leap in logic he just made is unreasonable and unbecoming of a Starfleet Admiral, but he’s also fairly certain that it wasn’t Komack’s idea in the first place.

“Just how high up was this decision made, anyway? I’d like to know who thought they could just give my hand away in _marriage_ without asking me about it.”

“Oh, it went through all instances. And when I say all, I mean _all_. There’s a final decision done by the Federation Supreme Court. I guess they thought they didn’t need your opinion.”

Something cold crawls down his spine. He’d known things were too good to be true. He’d survived too many times, had dodged too much trouble, had just barely started to find his way back to that childlike wonder that space used to instill in him. It couldn’t last.

“And this… marriage.” The word is difficult to repeat. “What does it entail, exactly?”

“Captain.”

He turns to Spock, who’s reading the contents of a PADD. Yeoman Rand hovers nervously a few steps away, staring at Spock who’s in turn staring down with frightening intensity at the screen.

“Yes, Spock?”

“These so called candidates are all high-ranking representatives of their respective planets.”

“So they are,” Komack interjects, clearing his throat. “You see, there’s been talks that Humans are too influential within the Federation, and Starfleet especially. It seems they all agreed that you are about to become such an influential Human.”

Again, Jim blinks. He lifts a hand to run it down his face, then up through his hair. Is that a strange, roundabout way of telling him he’s up for a promotion once the mission is over?

“They believe that the planet successful in securing the Captain’s voice and vote will gain an increased influence and additional power within the Federation,” Spock concludes. “An interesting, if outdated, political maneuver.”

“I’ll be a political puppet,” Jim mumbles, then reaches for the PADD. “Let me see that.”

Spock hands it over without a word, and stays close. His support is certainly needed as he eyes the list. It’s not terribly long, but many of the more important planets and species are represented. A Tellarite, an Andorian, Rigelian, Bolian… He’s pretty sure he’s allergic to Bolian fluids. There’s been lectures before shore leaves.

“And they’re all women,” he blurts out, glancing up at Komack.

“Not all, Captain,” Spock answers, stiffly. “The Jelna species of Rigel V have four sexes, not limited to boundaries of male and female, and-“

“Thanks, Spock.” He drops the PADD on his lap, leaning his face in one hand. “Admiral, this is pretty sudden. How long do I have?”

Before Spock can object, as he seems intent to do no matter the topic, Jim shushes him with a stern look. They stay staring at each other, a silent conversation that tells Jim in no uncertain terms that he shouldn’t be agreeing to this. But what choice does he have? The admiralty isn’t fond of him other than as a poster boy, and this aligns perfectly with that poster boy title. Maybe he’ll have to spend the rest of his life in politics, and possibly beg his crew to break him out so they can become space pirates together. He’s not so out of the loop that he’s unaware of the tensions between member planets at the moment. A Supreme Court decision doesn’t just happen overnight.

“Well, the marriage is expected upon your return from the mission. But I suggest to choose fast, or someone might choose for you. It’s the only way they could agree on in the end, with ritual combat as the runner-up. They just couldn’t agree on _whose_ rituals they’d follow.”

He shares a _what the hell_ look with Spock. Ritual combat? To marry _him_? Did they drop into one of those fabled mirror universes?

“Admiral,” Spock says, and this time _he_ shushes _Jim_ with a quick squeeze to his shoulder. “I couldn’t help but notice that all founding planets are present on the list, except for Vulcan.”

“Oh, yes.” Komack leans back, crossing his arms. “A bit too illogical for you Vulcans, isn’t it?”

“As this is clearly a mere oversight, I should like to add a Vulcan candidate to the list.”

“A Vulcan candidate.”

“Yes. Specifically, myself.”

Jim opens his mouth, closes it again. He turns to Uhura, leaning around Spock to catch her eye.

“Uhura, give us a moment.”

She taps a few buttons, then nods at him. Komack’s face is frozen on the view screen, and Jim stands up and rounds on Spock. There’s a lot of words he wants to say, but in the end, only a single one escapes.

“ _What_?”

“Captain, you must understand that they will use you as a political pawn. You will, to put it plainly, be grounded indefinitely.”

Despite the absolutely insane move that Spock just pulled, his face is impassive save for a raised eyebrow. Jim wants to grab him and _shake him_.

“Additionally, I do not believe Vulcan would fail to submit a candidate despite the distasteful politics behind it. I cannot accept such an insult on behalf of my people.”

Absolutely _flabbergasted_ , Jim groans into his hands for a long, much needed moment. When he emerges again, he takes in the seriousness of Spock’s expression.

“You’re serious,” he says, unnecessarily. “You’re actually serious about adding yourself as a candidate so I can marry you. _Why_ , Spock?”

“I believe I have already informed you of the reasons,” his first officer says. He’s vaguely aware they’re discussing their potential marriage in front of the entire bridge crew. “Would you prefer either of the candidates listed instead?”

“No! No, obviously I don’t prefer anyone on that list, I don’t even know them!”

“Then logically, the two of us will get married.”

He has to take a moment to let that sink in. He’s got half a mind to pinch himself, just to see if he fell asleep in the chair and allowed his mind to conjure up this extremely convenient plot to tie himself to Spock for the rest of eternity. At least Spock and Uhura are on a break again, or he’d feel even worse about it.

“I can’t ask you to do this,” he pleads with Spock. “We’ll find a way around it, or, or _something_. It’s too much, Spock.”

“It is my choice.” Spock steps closer, lowering his voice. Jim has to close his eyes to even begin to be able to deal with it. “Jim. I have considered all alternatives. To win in a no-win scenario, you must bend the rules to your favor. You taught me this, now let me help.”

When he opens his eyes, Spock’s gaze catches his, holding him. The deep brown color is steadying, grounding. It’s all he wants. Spock. Space. _Together_.

“Kirk,” Uhura calls. “I’m sorry, but Komack is getting impatient.”

Sharing one last look, Jim nods and returns to his seat. He can do this. He can marry his best friend that he secretly loves in order to snub a bunch of messed-up politicians.

He’ll think of the consequences later.

“Alright, Komack,” he says as soon as the connection comes back to life. “You heard my First Officer. There’s now a Vulcan candidate on the list.”

“I don’t like this,” Komack grumbles. “I should have known you wouldn’t play nice. I tried to tell them, but politicians are all talk and no ears. Very well, then. Mr. Spock, are you certain that you’re high-ranking enough to be an acceptable candidate?”

“Affirmative.” Spock plants his feet firmly on the ground, hands clasped behind his back, chin held high. “I am a descendant of the House of Surak, my father currently serves on the Vulcan High Council, and my great-grandfather was Solkar, whom you may recall was the first Vulcan ambassador to Earth and part of the First Contact made with humanity. I am, for all intents and purposes, certainly high-ranking enough.”

Something in Spock’s face seems to dare Komack to disagree. Jim can’t help falling in love all over again – that Spock would choose him, logical or not, over whatever future plans he harbors... His heart keeps skipping beats, and he has to bite his lips hard against the silly smile that threatens to break out. It’s not the way he would have chosen, had he been given a choice, but having this is more than he could ever hope for.

“If a war breaks out over this, _you’re_ responsible. You hear me? Good. I’ll let them know the Vulcans won. Komack out.”

The silence goes from shocked to loaded; Jim resolutely stares ahead, crossing one leg over the other, fingers tapping the armrest. The planet below them is back in view, peaceful. He really should have joined the away team today.

“Lieutenant Uhura, please patch through a high priority subspace call to my father.”

“…alright.”

Jim pretends he didn’t all but jump out of the chair at Spock’s words.

“Should we take this in the ready room?” he mumbles, pressing his fingers into the smooth material underneath them. When Spock shakes his head, he barely suppresses an indignant noise. “But-“

“Captain, this is official business.” Spock is in the same position as before, resolute. “As my father is still ambassador to Earth, he will be able to take any necessary action on our part.”

There’s no way Jim can keep up the professionalism any longer. His face breaks into a mix of confusion and dismay, and he shuffles around to get a better look at Spock’s profile.

“You’re really mad about this,” he comments, half in disbelief. “Do I need to remind you that it _would_ be bad if a war broke out over this?”

Someone snorts over by the helm, and a glance shows Sulu and Chekov snickering over their controls.

“I am fully aware of the circumstances,” Spock shoots him down with, Sulu’s shoulders starting to shake.

“Oh, well. In _that_ case.” He clears his throat. “I’m fully confident you can handle this, _darling_.”

The laughter breaks out in earnest now, and Jim sinks lower in the chair, head tipping back. Why do these things keep happening to him? Spock doesn’t comment on the pet name, doesn’t even look at him. Uhura clears her throat behind them.

“I’ve got Ambassador Sarek on audio, Spock.”

She doesn’t sound terribly upset, but that doesn’t mean much. He wonders what she’s thinking about her on-and-off boyfriend suddenly agreeing to marry her captain. Well, they’re friends he supposes, but that sort of makes it worse.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Ambassador Sarek,” Spock greets his father with, standing impossibly straighter.

“Spock. Official business, I presume?”

There’s background noise, the soft crunching of footsteps, the hustle and bustle of a busy city.

“Correct. We were notified minutes ago by Admiral Komack that there have been political discussions resulting in several Federation member planets making a claim on Captain Kirk for a politically motivated marriage. New Vulcan, however, seems not to have been invited.”

“Ah,” Sarek says. “On the contrary. I was very much involved in these discussions.”

Spock raises an eyebrow, and Jim mimics him as they share a look.

“You… were?” Jim can’t help but ask.

“I shall reach my office in 0.52 minutes. I suggest we resume this topic then. Spock, Captain Kirk. I trust that you are well?”

Bewildered, Jim looks to Spock for guidance. _Is your dad making small talk_ he mouths at him, a brief flash of panic in Spock’s eyes hurriedly blinked away.

“We are of adequate health,” Spock replies, and Jim resists the urge of banging his head against the nearest hard surface.

“And Miss Uhura?”

“She is well.”

“Are you still, as Humans say, dating?”

This day is turning more surreal by the minute. He catches Sulu’s eyes by accident, the man biting his lips to keep his mirth inside. He gives Jim a thumbs-up and an encouraging nod, and oh, this would be an excellent time for an emergency to happen.

“Negative, Father. I gather you are currently on Earth.”

“Paris, to be precise.”

Jim swallows the lump in his throat. Paris means the President of the Federation, means Komack wasn’t kidding about the Supreme Court being involved. Everything seems very, _very_ real all of a sudden.

The turbolift doors swish open, and he can hear just by the sound of the steps that Bones has arrived. After those first few steps he pauses, probably taking in the strange atmosphere present on the bridge. Jim turns abruptly, pressing a finger to his mouth. It has Bones frowning, but staying blessedly silent as he comes over to stand on the other side of his chair. Not long after, the view screen switches to show Sarek seated in an office. He’s dressed in formal, black robes, his gaze taking in the three of them without any hint of surprise.

“Let us resume. These negotiations regarding Captain Kirk started shortly after the events in Yorktown. They are a consequence and extension of other discussions, many of which reached their culmination in a matter of prestige. As the matter was taken to the Supreme Court, I spoke on Captain Kirk’s behalf to convince the other ambassadors of the suggested solution’s illogic.”

“You were not successful?” The irritation in Spock’s tone speaks volumes, but Jim is not entirely sure what, exactly, those volumes speak of. “Surely it would have been a simple matter to prove.”

Ambassador Sarek looks almost indulgent as he looks at his son. He folds his hands on the desk in front of him.

“Perhaps, but it would not have resolved the underlying problem. As such, I made sure that there were enough, shall we say _loopholes_ , to handle the matter satisfactorily once the Captain was informed.”

Impressed, Jim glances up at Spock, waiting for his reaction. No wonder Spock is so badass if his dad went up to the Supreme Court and came out looking smug despite losing the case.

“Clarify.”

Spock looks irritated still. If the topic wasn’t his own hand in marriage, Jim is sure he would have enjoyed such a rare display of Spock dealing with personal matters.

“First of all, the choice must fall upon Captain Kirk. Admiral Komack of Starfleet were to inform him in order to ensure neutrality, as Earth naturally could not put forth a candidate. Secondly, there are no provisions hindering him from choosing a representative of a planet not on the list, or for other planets to add their candidates at a later date. And, most importantly, there is no provision hindering the Captain from simply choosing no candidate at all.”

Well. _Fuck_.

Jim runs a hand over his mouth, not daring to look at Spock. There’s cold sweat gathering at his forehead now, anxiety shortening his breath. They could have gotten out of this without Spock offering himself up as a sacrifice. Maybe Komack hasn’t broken the news yet? No, knowing him he’d made the calls a second after theirs ended.

“I surmised you would call me once the Admiral informed you.”

“Yes,” Spock says, but when he says nothing else, Jim considers fleeing.

A hand falls on his shoulder, gripping him tight in support. It helps a little, at least.

“Well, this is fun and all,” Bones drawls, “but judging by the fact that I got an urgent ship-wide message saying _The Captain and Mr. Spock are getting married for politics_ , I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess y’all messed up somehow.”

Jim can’t hold back another groan. He’s going to find out who sent that message and _fire them_.

“As we did not have all the facts, it was the only logical course of action.”

There’s an undercurrent of barely restrained anger to Spock’s words. It’s been a long time since Spock was this angry, and Jim is not happy to know he’s the cause of it.

“I see.” Sarek doesn’t seem particularly troubled. “It will benefit our people greatly.”

Wow. Okay. Jim keeps looking between them, mouth shaping soundless words. Is he out of his mind or did Spock’s dad calculate exactly this outcome? Is Jim going to have to speak for Vulcan politics for the rest of his foreseeable future because Sarek felt like playing the entirety of the Federation?

Jesus Christ on a corn stick, that’s some god tier political manipulation.

“I believe Admiral Komack is attempting to reach me,” Sarek continues, glancing down at something. “I shall keep you informed.”

He ends the call. If Jim could just hold his breath until he passes out, that would be great, thanks. Bones slowly walks around the chair to stand in front of him, crossing his arms with a glare. He starts with Jim, then redirects it at Spock.

“A bit unlike you to act first, and think later,” he says, deadpan. “Wonder why that is.”

“Uh,” Jim starts, thrown for another loop at the way Bones is eyeing Spock like he knows way more than he should about what’s going on. “How about we all go back to work instead.”

“Funny, I thought this was work-related,” Bones retorts, gaze not leaving Spock. “Was I wrong?”

“Doctor, your comments are unnecessary. I shall return to my station.”

Which is precisely what Spock does. Soon enough he’s tapping at the large screen he’d abandoned earlier, only the stiffness of his limbs and the furrow between his brows giving any sort of hint to his mood.

He probably stares after him a little too long, because Bones clears his throat, gesturing with his head at the rest of the crew that has remained silent. He does something complicated with his eyebrows, eventually sighing when Jim just looks at him, confused.

“I’ll see you later, Jim,” Bones tells him, clapping his shoulder as he passes.

There’s some muttering as he leaves, Jim rubbing at his shoulder with a grimace.

“Back to work, everyone,” he orders.

They all do as told, but he’s under no illusions that he won’t be hearing about this for a long time. He’s not looking forward to the inevitable conversation he’ll need to have with Spock. Would confessing his love make things worse or better? Maybe if he just ignores the problem it will go away…

Yeah. As if.

☆☆☆☆☆

McCoy’s got the drinks ready as the door to rec room 4 slide open, Spock stalking inside. Not the person he expected, but he wordlessly holds out a glass to the stone-faced Vulcan that he surprisingly accepts. He sits down so heavily on the bar stool that McCoy fears it might break.

“Well, hello to you, too,” he says, as Spock sniffs at the contents of the glass and makes a face. “If you’re not going to drink it, I will.”

It’s been about three weeks since the _marriage incident_ , as the ship’s scuttlebutt has taken to calling it. He has a feeling he’s going to need plenty of alcohol if Spock wants to talk.

“The Captain is pre-occupied in Engineering,” Spock informs him somberly, leaning his forearms on the bar counter, lacing his fingers together.

“Alright. I think I can handle drinking on my own until he arrives.”

Everyone knows that rec room 4 is his and Jim’s preferred place to hang out, aside from McCoy’s office. It’s fairly small, the bar is cozy, and there’s a couple couches that are actually comfortable. Spock prefers to spend his time being productive. There’s nothing productive about him now, however, as he stares glumly at the bottle McCoy’s been saving since their last shore leave.

A depressed Vulcan. Just what he needed to make tonight better.

“You know, my office hours are mainly during Alpha shift,” he says, knocking back his own glass. “Just because you dislike sickbay doesn’t mean you get to have your own special schedule.”

“I am not here for counseling, Doctor.”

“A friendly chat, then?” Spock gives him a loathsome look. “You know how much I enjoy it when you complain about Jim being illogical.”

“It is not complaint, Leonard. It is fact. The Captain _is_ illogical.”

“Yeah, well.” McCoy pours some more brandy into his glass. Spock might not be touching his own glass anymore, but he hasn’t made any moves to return it. “You’re the one marrying him, not me.”

It does the trick. Spock grabs the glass and downs it in one go, slamming it down onto the counter afterwards. He shudders, the strong alcohol making its way down his throat.

“I do not understand why Humans find the act of ingesting alcohol to be soothing.”

“Oh, no, not soothing.”

Spock raises an eyebrow, pushing the glass to the side with a careless flick of fingers.

“We’ve been over this, Spock. It’s all about forgetting. _You_ wouldn’t understand because alcohol doesn’t have that effect on you.”

“It also tastes unpleasant.”

“Saurian brandy is considered a delicacy.” McCoy points at him with the hand holding his glass. “Now, I doubt you came here to argue about the merits of alcohol. It’ll go something like this – you’ll complain about Jim, I’ll tell you to suck it up and tell him the truth, and you’ll come up with some logical argument as to why you shouldn’t. Sound familiar?”

“I do not appreciate your tone.”

There’s something resigned about him, McCoy thinks. By now everything’s been made official, even if there’s apparently still squabbling about whether or not Spock being half human isn’t technically against the supposed rules. Politics give him instant headaches, but in this case there’s something hilarious about the results. Spock _really_ jumped on the opportunity, but Jim still feels guilty over Spock’s apparent loyalty and duty to his captain as a Starfleet officer. It’s a damn soap opera, is what it is.

“Either way, I’m staying out of this one. You two figure out your shit, I’ll be over here hugging this brandy.”

“You bet a hundred credits that I have been in love with him since Khan.”

McCoy coughs.

“No I didn’t. How do you even know about that?!”

Leveling him with a dark glare, Spock grabs the bottle of brandy and pulls it out of reach for him.

“Your assumptions about me are highly unwelcome.”

“And yet, Spock. And yet.”

They spend a long minute scowling at each other. McCoy may have been slow to catch on, but the facts don’t lie. His life would be so much easier if the two of them could just get over themselves and have a real conversation, but he refuses to play matchmaker. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because knowing them, even sitting them down face to face and telling them both that they’re in love with each other is bound to go wrong somehow. And if they’re too stupid to listen, the only thing left to do is wait it out.

“Can I have my bottle back?” he gives in eventually, because Spock’s holding it pretty tightly and he doesn’t want any accidents involving Vulcan strength.

“Very well.” Spock stands up, letting go of it. His expression is back to neutral, his eyes unreadable. “I shall leave you be. Clearly you have important things to discuss with this bottle of yours.”

“I do, thanks.” As Spock nears the door, he calls after him. “And for god’s sake, just talk to him, will ya? The tension’s getting old fast.”

There’s no reply, not that he expected one. He grabs the bottle, turning it around in his hands. He can’t believe Spock actually drank some of it. Jim will never believe it.

He sighs, running a tired hand through his hair. You’d think the worst part of being in space would be danger and disease, not relationship drama. Danger, however, tends to be temporary. You either live through it or you don’t, and you find out pretty fast. Drama, however?

Yeah, that one just never ends.

☆☆☆☆☆

Jim can’t help but suspect that Uhura is mad at Spock. He’s neck deep in tribbles and Klingons and Spock has been glued to his side ever since they reached Deep Space Station K-7, but there’s just something about their silent communication that bugs him. It really doesn’t help his temper that the Klingon captain, Koloth, keeps trying to corner him alone.

“Captain Kirk,” Koloth says, all smiles. “We meet again.”

“It’s a small starbase, Captain.” He tries to give a polite smile back, but it’s probably as strained as he feels. Spock steps close enough that their shirt sleeves brush. “Now, if you’ll excuse us…”

“Surely your First Officer can spare you for a moment.”

There’s no mistaking the way Koloth’s gaze takes him in, slowly, from head to toe and back up again. As much as he enjoys exploring alien anatomy, he’s not _that_ curious about Klingons.

“A moment would be much too long spent in your company,” Spock says, and grabs Jim’s arm firmly.

He doesn’t let go even when they reach the bar they were heading towards. Uhura is there with Chekov, petting the tribbles littering the bar desk and speaking to the man running it. When she sees them she eyes them meaningfully, and Spock’s hand leaves his arm as if burnt.

“Trouble, sir?” Chekov asks, and Jim realizes he’s been scowling the whole time.

“Just Koloth,” he replies, rolling his shoulders. “Can’t wait to leave this place.”

“It’s not so bad,” Chekov says, but even he looks a little hesitant.

His communicator chirps, and he sighs as Bones calls him back to the ship. He nods at Uhura and Chekov, pausing when Spock starts following him.

“Spock, there’s no need for you to return with me. Enjoy your shore leave instead.”

“I have no need for shore leave,” Spock says, leaving no room for argument.

“Still, you don’t have to-“

“You know, Captain,” Uhura says, leaning elegantly against the counter, ponytail swishing over her shoulder as she turns her head. “I’m pretty sure you couldn’t pry Spock from your side even if you accused him of acting illogically.”

“What do you-“

“In fact, it’s almost as if he _wants_ to be there, you know, just because,” she adds, and there’s a teasing smile on her face that he can’t understand where it came from.

“Oh, yes!” Chekov says, enthusiastic. “I have noticed, it is very sweet!”

Jim stares at them like they’ve grown an extra head each. Spock stares at them like he wishes them dead.

“Here, Captain, take a tribble for the road.” Uhura dumps a ball of fur in his arms, turning back around to order a drink.

He only moves when Spock gently pushes him, fingertips on the small of his back. The touch sends a bolt of electricity through him, and he barely wins the violent battle against a full-body shiver. Damn, Spock can’t just _do_ these things to him. They don’t speak on the way back to the transporter pad, and he throws himself back into work once they arrive on the ship. Each day it gets harder to ignore his feelings, and each day there are no signs of Spock returning his affection. Maybe he should have taken Koloth up on his offer, just to see if Spock would react. Surely jealousy is an illogical emotion that Vulcans are above.

The thought is nice, though.

☆☆☆☆☆

Uhura is not precisely mad at Spock, but she enjoys letting him think she is. Not because it ever changes his behavior, but at least it makes him squirm. It’s something she can enjoy without additional guilt now that they’ve broken up for good.

Hindsight is a bitch, or something like that. She loves Spock, really, and knows he loves her in his own way. Just not the way he loves Kirk. No, once she understood the difference, she was able to let go of him. In a sense he’d been holding her back – but well, they’ll remain close friends, and the relief she felt once it was clear that the whole mess with Spock and Kirk’s political marriage meant they would never get back together sort of clued her in to the fact that they should have made that decision much earlier. Kirk’s been third-wheeling them long enough. Might as well make Spock _his_ problem now.

The fact that Spock is helplessly, illogically in love with Kirk while stubbornly refusing to admit it is more sad than amusing, though.

It’s painfully obvious at the moment, as she stands with him in the banquet hall of a Denobulan princess. It is, coincidentally, the same princess that was on the list of potential spouses that Kirk received months ago. Since then the princess had managed to find a third husband, but that doesn’t seem to stop her from flirting with him. They’d been passing by the planet when the invitation came, and Starfleet command seemed to think it a good idea to have them dress up and make nice with the Denobulans. Something about how if Denobula accepted Kirk being married off to a Vulcan, more planets would follow.

Really, it’s absolutely hilarious (in a fucked up way) that they’re all fighting over _Kirk_.

“Not going over to save your fiancé?” she asks Spock, taking a sip of the sparkling drink in her hand. “He looks like he needs it.”

“The Captain has made it clear to me that he can handle himself.”

She watches him from the corner of her eye, noting the pursed lips and intent staring.

“We both know he’s not great at handling himself. Usually that won’t stop you, did something happen?”

“Negative.”

“You sure? You look like the only reason you’re not going over there and ripping her arms off is because Kirk ordered you not to.”

“Nyota, please stop ascribing such violent tendencies to what you believe is my emotional state.” He pauses, uncomfortable. “The Captain informed me that I need to work on my diplomacy.”

She grins, catching the eye of a Denobulan woman dressed in bright colors. Probably married, but that doesn’t mean much in Denobulan society. Which brings her back to Spock’s little problem. Everyone on the ship knows by now that touching Kirk is off limits, unless you want Spock to hate you forever. Funny how he never acted that way with her. Maybe he simply didn’t need to – unlike Kirk, she can absolutely take care of herself.

“Does Kirk know that Denobulans are polyamorous and that if he accidentally responds to her advances, she’ll most likely have several of her husbands and their wives join in?”

Spock looks vaguely sick.

“I do not know.”

Oh. Oh no. She realizes now that Spock thinks Kirk would happily accept such a proposition. As much as she used to think of him as a dumb hick who would jump in bed with anyone, that hasn’t been true for a long time. Teasing Spock has gone from harmless fun to watching him wallow in self-pity, and she doesn’t want to spend the rest of the night watching him make sad eyes at Kirk.

“Wait here,” she sighs, fixes her dress, and makes sure to sway her hips and flick her hair on her way over.

When she reaches the captain, she brings out her most seductive smile and directs it full force at the Denobulan princess.

“My sincerest apologies,” she starts, fluttering her lashes. It seems to work well. “Captain Kirk is needed for some official ship’s business, mind if I take his place?”

She elbows Kirk in the side, and he catches on a second too slow.

“Oh, right, thank you, Lieutenant. Feezal, this is my Communications Officer, Lieutenant Nyota Uhura. Lieutenant, meet Feezal.”

“A pleasure,” Feezal murmurs, smiling prettily.

The Denobulans are a humanoid species, with tall foreheads and ridges down their temples. This one’s got wavy dark hair, lips as brightly red as her dress. She’s definitely Kirk’s type, she thinks, amused with how relieved he seems to be saved from her clutches. Well, Uhura can’t deny that she’s attractive, and unlike Kirk, she wouldn’t mind a night spent in a Denobulan bedroom. She’s heard all sorts of things about them.

“I’ll uh, I’ll go check what’s going on,” Kirk says, nodding at them both before hightailing it in Spock’s direction.

Mission accomplished. She keeps an eye on them for a while as she speaks with Feezal, noting how closely they’re standing, heads bent together. How they can be so oblivious is a mystery.

“I forgot about Vulcan mating habits,” Feezal comments, following her line of vision. “I heard they take only one mate, and that their families are small. It must be a lonely way of living.”

“It is logical to them.”

Feezal giggles, then reaches out to trace the Starfleet insignia on Uhura’s uniform dress.

“And you? Are you very lonely, up there in space?”

Uhura instantly forgets all about her superior officers and their troubles.

☆☆☆☆☆

Were he more prone to believe in the universe conspiring against its inhabitants, Spock may have considered that his suffering was intentional. He does understand that Jim is aesthetically pleasing to many species, his own included. Humans were often so smooth and rounded, with soft skin and expressive faces. Their personalities somehow seemed to burst out of their bodies, catching others unawares. He has overheard many such comments made about the captain’s person, and does believe them to be true. But, surely, few others have seen Jim like he is now; at peace, bathed in the purplish light of the planet’s sunset.

They had dropped off supplies for the scientific team in charge of researching this uninhabited planet, and Jim had made the suggestion that they could all use a few hours to stretch their legs.

Naturally, Spock went with Jim as they beamed down to the surface once more. They had found this hill, moss-covered and rising above the trees and bushes growing close to the ground. The planet is home to strong winds and frequent lightning storms, but the current season in the northern hemisphere is relatively calm.

Sitting side by side, Jim leans back on his hands, face tilted up towards the sinking sun. His features are painted in purple light, in stark relief to the white shades of the moss covering the ground in all directions. His eyes are closed, expression serene. Spock would reach out and trace the shadows by his ear, would lean in and taste the shape of his mouth.

He recalls the words of pre-Surak poems, easily. Can he truly be faulted, when Jim is so vibrant, so alive in this moment? He would read them as a child, would trace the script in photocopies on his PADD. He would imagine the person writing, would try to see what they saw, wondered at how the words burned on the back of his tongue. It is clear to him now that it is not _what_ they saw, but _who_. Watching Jim allows him to feel the same burn on his tongue, urges him to paint his being into flowing words on a page, to capture his essence in poor imitation. He is not alone in feeling such passion for Jim, and the thought is disquieting to him.

There is too much of Jim to limit him to one planet, one person. He is meant to explore, to experience. To discover.

Spock will stand by his side, will give all that Jim asks of him. He will recall the poems, and let the words turn to rust inside him. He will reach, but never have.

As the sun lowers beyond the horizon, unfamiliar stars wink at them from above. The sky seems velvety, reflected in Jim’s eyes when he opens them.

“It’s beautiful here,” Jim whispers. His fingers curl into the moss, disappearing into the shadows of night. “Don’t you think?”

“Yes.”

Their eyes meet, and for a wild, breathless moment, Spock reads more into it than he should. Abruptly, he stands.

“We should return before it is too dark to find the way,” he says, and his voice sounds hollow, his hands cold.

“Vulcans don’t have night vision?” Jim jokes, but he stands, brushing moss off his pants.

The moment is not quite broken, when Jim takes a step closer. The temperature has lowered significantly in the span of minutes, the sun no longer offering its warmth.

“You’ll get cold,” Jim adds, gesturing with a hand towards the scientists’ encampment. “It’s probably for the best that we go back.”

Neither of them move. There’s an ache in Spock’s chest, a plethora of emotion he cannot suppress. The planet has no moon, and the sliver of purple at the horizon does little to light the way. It would be so easy to close the distance, here, in the dark.

Pulse heavy in his side, Spock indulges in a moment of indecision. He could say, _we are to be married_. He could find Jim’s fingertips, sense his mind through the touch. He could stand there, indefinitely, with Jim’s full attention on him, and him alone.

For a moment, he stands on the precipice of truth.

“Captain? Mr. Spock? Captain!”

It’s yeoman Rand. The moment is broken as they turn to her, reality bleeding through the cracks in the darkness. Jim clears his throat, glancing only once at Spock before walking towards the sound of her voice.

Spock follows, as he always does.

☆☆☆☆☆

“Scotty, what have you got for me?”

“Ah, well, not much, Captain.”

“Not much?”

“Hardly anythin’, really.”

“There’s nothing to do? Really?”

Scotty shrugs a little helplessly.

“Well, there’s the maintenance work an’ all but I dinnae think you’d-“

“Maintenance work is fine, Mr. Scott.”

Jim claps a hand on Scotty’s arm, heading deeper into Engineering. There’s ensigns scurrying around frantically, and several more scrubbing at various pieces of equipment.

“Expecting an inspection or something?” he asks, rolling up the sleeves of his overalls. Scotty half-runs to keep up with him, grimacing strangely.

“No sir. I mean, aye, sir. Never hurts to be prepared.”

There’s something weird going on, but Jim isn’t going to argue with him. He asks a nervous-looking ensign what’s left to do, and grabs a couple rags and a spray flask of warp core-safe cleaning solution, ducking under a few tubes in order to set to work.

“Really, Captain, there’s no need for you to-“

“It’s fine, Scotty. Happy to help!”

He flashes him a bright grin, and Scotty’s shoulders slump in resignation.

“Aye, let it be known I tried,” he mumbles as he leaves, turning to yell at Keenser.

Jim shrugs it off, devoting himself to the mindless task of polishing the heart of the ship. If nothing else, he’s found that spending time here eases the pain of certain memories. Of course, that only makes him think of Spock, and he scrubs hard as his mind wanders. It’s how Bones finds him, a couple hours later.

“Mmhmm,” he greets him with, Jim glimpsing the grumpy look on his face from the other side of the grid he’s working on. Maybe if he stays right there, Bones can’t reach him. “If it isn’t the captain of the ‘Fleet’s flagship, scrubbing dirt.”

“Don’t look down on maintenance work, Bones. What will the ensigns think of us?”

“I’m sure they’d understand,” Bones says, rolling his eyes. “They’re all looking extremely nervous, either way. You wouldn’t happen to be avoiding something, would you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I’m sure you don’t. I’ve been looking for you for _hours_. I even got Spock to help me. Did you know that we’ve already checked Engineering _three times_?”

“That sounds terribly bothersome, Bones.”

“It is, believe me. Now, you can either come out of there of your own volition, or I’ll stick random hypos through the grid and we’ll see which ones manage to hit.”

Sighing, Jim abandons the stubborn spot he’s been working on for the past ten minutes. He was only postponing the inevitable, anyway. He’s just about squeezed himself out from between the grid and the wall when he notices Spock approaching. Great. He’s covered in dirt, the sleeves of his overalls tied around his waist, only a threadbare tank top covering his chest. He dries his hands off on his pant legs uselessly, fighting the urge to fix his hair. Spock’s seen him looking worse, anyway, but he still does a double take at the sight of him. His eyes flicker up and down his body, a complicated expression passing over his face. Jim is absolutely fascinated by it.

“Captain, doctor McCoy,” Spock says as he reaches them, turning his face towards Bones even as his eyes linger on Jim. “I suggest you freshen up before we start, Captain.”

“It’s not _that_ bad, is it?” He rubs at his cheek, swearing when he remembers the weird charcoal-like dust he’d found behind the grid. “Alright, maybe it is that bad.”

“Captain, please refrain from touching anything.” Spock’s voice sounds strangled, and Bones holds out a disposable wet wipe that he must have picked up along the way.

To his great surprise, Spock snatches it out of Bones’ hand, tearing the packet open and advancing on Jim with vengeance.

“You would only make it worse,” he grits out between clenched teeth, and proceeds to wipe Jim’s face none too gently.

He’s too shocked to react. Bones’ face is alight with glee, as he hands more packets to Spock when the dirt on his face is too much for a single wipe to handle. Once his face is scrubbed raw, Spock stands back and scrutinizes it, as if daring the dirt to stick around.

“Uh. Thanks?”

“I shall see you in the meeting room,” Spock announces, then turns on his heels and stalks away, frightened ensigns all but throwing themselves out of his way.

“Wow, what was that about?” he asks no one in particular, and Bones snorts at him.

“Guess even Vulcans find your face offensive.”

“Hey!” He purses his lips, offended. “Wars have almost been declared over this face, you know.”

Too late he realizes that the thumb he just used to scratch his nose with is covered in dirt, too.

“Well, fuck.”

“Go shower, you complete disaster,” Bones sighs at him, shaking his head. “Then we can have fun discussing the wedding venue.”

Ah, right. The wedding venue. The thing he was avoiding. Right.

“Do I have to? Spock can decide. He’s good at that sort of thing.”

“As your best man, I refuse to be left alone with Spock and Uhura arguing about whether or not you should be wearing the dress uniform or Vulcan robes. If I have to hear the words _culturally appropriate_ one more time I’m going to jump out of an airlock.”

“Spock wants me to wear Vulcan robes?”

Bones gives him a long-suffering look.

“No, that would be Uhura. Spock seems to think Starfleet uniforms would be more practical.”

“Well, they would, wouldn’t they?” He frowns as Bones herds him towards the turbolift. “It’s not going to be a big thing, is it? Tell me it’s not going to be a big thing.”

“Were you even listening last time Spock’s dad called? It’s the happening of the century, apparently. It’ll be broadcasted throughout the whole Federation.”

Jim stops, digging his heels in when Bones tries to make him keep moving.

“You’re joking.”

“Wish I was.”

It’s like his life flashes before his eyes. Not only does he have to marry Spock for politics, he has to do it in front of billions of people. He’d cry if he weren’t a starship captain surrounded by impressionable ensigns.

“I can’t do this, Bones,” he hisses, grabbing his arms. “How am I supposed to live through it?”

“With a happy smile on your face, I assume. Look, it’s way too late to back out, and I don’t really think that’s what you want to do. You’re just panicking because you’re gonna look like a lovesick fool through the whole ceremony and even Spock won’t be able to miss it.”

“You’re fired, Bones.” He shakes the other man, glaring a hole through his smug face. “You’re no longer my best friend. I’m firing you and revoking all your hypo privileges.”

“Good luck on your own,” Bones deadpans, and Jim immediately lets go of him.

He feels a little faint. The countdown has started, and he begins each day knowing he’ll be too much of a coward to sit Spock down and talk about what’s going to happen.

“Hey, it’ll be alright, kid.” Bones throws an arm over his shoulders, steering him towards the turbolift again. “I’d never let you marry someone who couldn’t take proper care of you. Spock’s a little rough around the edges, but his heart’s in the right place. Well, right place for a Vulcan. And _don’t_ tell him I said that.”

“ _Bones_.”

“Besides, as I’ve told you a hundred times at least, if you just _talked_ about it you could skip this angsty shit and jump right to the honeymoon phase.”

“Easier said than done.”

They reach the turbolift, and Bones shoves him inside.

“You know what?” he says, narrowing his eyes. “I’m a little tired of the two of you feeling sorry for yourselves.”

“Mhm.”

There’s something in the way Bones looks at him that sends cold shivers down his spine.

“Yeah,” is all he says though, dropping the subject.

Jim should have known to run when he still had the chance.

☆☆☆☆☆

“I don’t get it,” Jim says, frustrated. He shakes the communicator in his hand, and Spock has to wonder at the illogical belief that Humans hold over technology being fixed with violence. “It worked perfectly fine just a moment ago.”

“Perhaps there is interference.”

Jim glares at him, clipping the communicator to his belt again.

“And what are the chances of that happening?” he asks, crossing his arms.

Spock doesn’t bother voicing the numbers. They’re small enough to be insignificant, anyway. He scans their surroundings, using both his tricorder and his eyes. There’s nothing much to see. They’re on a beach, the sand a volcanic black, with sharp, ragged cliffs rising up behind them. The wind whips at them, tasting of salt. The rest of the away team has already beamed up, and nothing had seemed out of the ordinary.

“Perhaps we should seek shelter in the cave as we wait,” he suggests, leading the captain back inside it.

They had come here to research the planet’s geology, as there had been indications of a mineral with a composition resembling dilithium. The natives of the planet were scattered in small groups, the nearest one several day’s travel away by foot. They were nowhere near being warp-capable, but existed within Federation space. It was unlikely that they had caused the interference.

“It’s not very comfortable,” Jim notes as they sit down, far enough from the entrance to avoid the wind, but not so far that sound wouldn’t travel from the beach. “Just once I’d like to find a cave with cushions.”

“Perhaps the next time we join the away team, you can bring your own.”

Jim snorts, shifting as the uneven cave wall digs into his back. They’re wearing sturdier uniforms of the overalls kind to account for the rough terrain and chilly temperature, but Spock doubts it helps much with comfort for a Human.

“How long do you think it’ll take? Sulu will get pissed if I’m late for our fencing match again.”

“As they have yet to contact us, I believe it likely that the interference is not temporary.”

“Right.”

Abandoning his attempts at gaining comfort from the wall, Jim lies down on the ground, sprawled out. There’s volcanic sand covering it, blown inside with the wind. It’s only a light breeze this far in, but it brings with it the tangy smell of salt and sulfur.

“I don’t think we’ll be picking this planet for our honeymoon destination,” Jim says after a few minutes of silence.

Spock glances down at him. He’s folded his arms behind his head, face tilted to the left side, towards Spock. He’s close enough that Spock could reach out and touch his elbow.

“Do you have other suggestions?” he asks, because it’s incredibly rare for Jim to voluntarily speak of their marriage.

He reluctantly participates in the planning, and ignores it the rest of the time. Some days he seems to be avoiding Spock as well, as if the reminder makes him uncomfortable. Once again Spock is reassured in his decision to keep his feelings to himself. He wonders if it will continue like this after the ceremony, or if Jim will at the very least refer to him as his husband.

“Have you ever travelled around Earth?” When Spock shakes his head, Jim smiles a little. “Yeah, me neither. Didn’t really get out of Iowa much. You never visited Kenya with Uhura?”

“The opportunity never presented itself.”

Jim hums in thought, turning over to lie on his side. He looks comfortable in the sand, fingers drawing patterns in it. There’s something about him in overalls that drives Spock to the breaking point. The sand is nothing like the sands of Vulcan-that-was, and yet.

“Maybe visiting your ex-girlfriend’s home is a bit weird for a honeymoon,” Jim concludes, scrunching up his nose. “We could go to some wildlife reserve? Japan’s cat island, maybe. You like cats.”

“Do you not want to go back into space immediately?”

A somber look passes over Jim’s face. He melts into the sand, free hand haphazardly placed between them, almost as if reaching for him. Spock is helpless to its presence. He takes in every curve of those fingers, every line, every vein. The thickness and shape, the neatly trimmed nails. Jim’s hands would have started wars in pre-Surak times, surely.

“I don’t know,” Jim confesses. “Maybe being grounded for a bit won’t be so bad. Not if I’ve got you with me.”

“You will always have me with you.”

The words tumble over his lips before he can stop them. He holds his breath. It is unlike him to act first and think later, but not with Jim. With Jim, he can barely think sometimes. This, however, may be the first time he forgot himself enough to respond out loud.

He can feel Jim’s eyes on him, keeping his own carefully stuck to the dark sand. Was it too much? Nyota always said that the problem with Vulcan-Human relationships is that Vulcans are always too little or too much, and Humans are simply _always_. A Vulcan can go months or years saying nothing, if it has already been said once, but a Human will constantly need to reassure and receive reassurance. Spock was never able to properly find that balance.

“Spock, I…” Jim hesitates, his hand making an aborted gesture. “Thank you.”

Lifting his head, Spock meets his gaze. It is impossibly soft. Jim like this, in the sand, just the two of them… A precious image he will cherish forever.

“So, um,” Jim continues before he’s had the chance to reply, “I think we can probably contact them now. I have a feeling I know what the hold-up is.”

Spock frowns, but does not object when Jim sits up and grabs his communicator again.

“Kirk to Enterprise, Kirk to Enterprise.” There’s only static. “You guys there? No? Then I guess it’s fine if I keep talking. So this one time back at the Academy, me and Bones went to Risa for a weekend. And you know, Bones was all up my case about space diseases and alien STD’s and whatnot, and then he ended up _so_ drunk on the first night, that he-“

“ _Enterprise here_ ,” comes Uhura’s voice through the static, and Jim sends him a smug look.

“Wow, Uhura, your voice sure is a sight for sore ears. Ready to beam us up?”

“ _Just a moment, Captain,”_ she sighs, and Jim hurriedly stands up and brushes off the sand clinging to his clothes.

Doing the same, Spock raises a questioning brow at the communicator in Jim’s hand.

“Call it a hunch,” Jim winks.

“ _Locking onto your signal, stand by_.”

A minute later they’re beamed up, materializing on the ship’s transporter pad, McCoy glaring at them. Scotty is manning the transporter, but he takes one look at the three of them and quickly excuses himself.

“So,” Jim says, sauntering off the pad. “Kinda funny how the communicator starting working as soon as I started telling that little story.”

“Funny how that was the first thing you thought of.”

“Well, now that you mention it, it _was_ a funny story. Almost as funny as being stuck on a planet for no reason.”

“Ashayam, there was no harm done to either of us,” Spock sighs, recognizing the furious look in McCoy’s eyes. He’d rather not get caught in one of their arguments – he is certain that whatever this is about, he does not want to get involved.

There’s a gasp from the doorway, and he catches sight of Nyota holding a hand in front of her mouth. He had believed her to be on the bridge-

Freezing, he backtracks his previous words, realizing his mistake. Her eyes fill with unrestrained glee. Ever since that time on Denobula, she has been pestering him about confessing to Jim. It gets worse during every meeting they have about the wedding, her hints turning into barely concealed suggestions. It is a miracle that Jim has remained oblivious to them all.

Jim looks between them, confused.

“Did you just call me something mean in Vulcan, Spock?”

“Negative.”

“He called you _something_ , that’s for sure,” Nyota tells him, expression turning smug. “Of course, I won’t translate it for you.”

“What? Why?” Even more confused, and just a little bit endearing, Jim crosses his arms and stares imploringly at Spock. “What does it mean?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Nyota teases him, walking over to Spock, handing him a PADD. “Your father left a message while you were stuck down there.”

“I know how to use a damn dictionary,” Jim mumbles, offended.

“I’m afraid all dictionaries are currently malfunctioning,” Spock tells him, and with a few well-placed taps and swipes on the PADD, so they are.

“That’s bullshit,” Jim says, grabbing the PADD out of his hands to look. “You’re the one who made them stop working. You’ve got ten minutes before I’ve hacked your codes and find out what insult you just called me. Care to get a head-start?”

Spock cannot resist. He shouldn’t, and Nyota and McCoy are right there, but…

“Very well. I shall leave you to it. Ashayam.”

The way Jim gapes at him is priceless. If Spock were more human, he would have started running already.

“Oh my god,” McCoy mutters.

Spock does not stay to find out what else he might say.

He reaches his quarters in record time, pausing just inside the door to collect himself. He believes he has a few minutes to use the sonic shower and change, before Jim comes bursting through the door. Spock does not care to guess his reaction. He quickly peels off the sandy uniform, disposing of it in the laundry chute. Once showered he dresses in uniform, although he only has time to pull the black undershirt on before the buzzer rings, insistently.

“Enter,” he says, and Jim stalks into the room as expected. He blinks at Spock’s state of dress, glancing at the science-blue shirt hanging over the back of a chair. “I assume you made it past my code.”

“Yeah. It was a bit overkill, honestly. I was going to find out anyway.”

“Perhaps.”

It had been the easiest and fastest code to download to the PADD in question, but Jim’s speed was still mildly impressive. Jim stomps across the room until they’re face to face, determination etched into his features.

“I translated the word,” he says, and the scant space between them becomes loaded with implication. “I can’t believe you.”

Allowing one eyebrow to tilt upwards in acknowledgement, Spock folds his hands behind his back and awaits judgement. It’s a long moment before Jim speaks again, his eyes searching Spock’s for something. He must find whatever it is, because his expression softens from agitated to a slight frown.

“Have you been flirting with me, Mr. Spock?”

“Certainly not, Captain.”

There’s a twitch to Jim’s mouth, like he can’t hold back a smile. Spock has noted such a thing on many occasions where Jim tries and fails to stay serious, helpless in the inner battle against amusement. He would never admit it, but he does enjoy the sight immensely.

“Well, we’re getting married.” He watches Spock closely, takes another tiny step into his personal space. “I wouldn’t want to get ahead of myself here or offend you somehow, but I’m just saying. If you _wanted_ to flirt with me…”

“Am I correct in interpreting this as a so called ‘hint’?”

There’s another charming twitch to Jim’s mouth, and then his lips break into a lovely smile. Laughter escapes him, quick to come and just as quick to disappear, though the smile lingers.

“Spock, I didn’t dare hope you would marry me simply because you wanted to.”

Thinning his lips into a disapproving line, Spock doesn’t object when Jim hesitantly lifts his hand and spreads his fingertips over the middle of his stomach. He can feel the touch burning him through fabric, just a hint of emotions bleeding through to bounce against his shields.

“Jim, I would not subject you to an arranged marriage which would cause you suffering.”

When Jim gives him a _look_ , most certainly borne from displeasure at Spock’s avoidance of a clear answer, he reasons that it is time to come clean, as Humans say.

“I… will admit to a certain level of personal interest in ensuring your marriage to a suitable person, were it necessarily to happen in such a way as Admiral Komack requested.”

“Spock, that’s a really roundabout way of saying you saw the chance and didn’t even think twice to take it.”

He presses his palm flat to Spock’s stomach, pushing until Spock understands that this, too, is a hint. They walk towards Spock’s bed, and Spock obediently sits down on it after another insistent little push.

“I did think twice,” Spock disagrees, curious as to Jim’s intentions. “I considered the alternatives and dismissed them. I also considered the possible negative impact such an offer would have on our respective professional roles.”

“And?”

Jim steps between Spock’s bent legs, pushing his knees aside to fit comfortably. It forces Spock to crane his neck in order to meet his eyes, and he suppresses a shiver as Jim’s hands land on his shoulders. There’s so little separating them, the brush of a finger against his neck sending rushes of pleasure over his skin that he is unable to ignore.

“And I found I did not care.”

The truth slips out of him easily. He had not wanted to admit it – had not wanted to acknowledge a decision based not on logic, but on emotion.

“You want to marry me.”

Despite the surety of his tone, there is still hesitance in Jim’s touch, in the way his eyes flicker across Spock’s face. Spock is sure enough now that Jim wishes to hear a positive answer, is waiting only for confirmation before he allows his more impulsive, action-driven side to take over. It will not to do have Jim think Spock would not give him all that he has and more.

It is illogical, all-consuming… Spock burns for him too strongly. It is logical to say yes, to reach out, to give freely all that Jim asks of him. And yet, Jim is so very Human. There is much he does not understand. That Spock would give all, but he is a Vulcan. He must also ask of Jim to give of himself, and he does not know how. He does not deserve it, is the problem.

“Spock, please. Say something.”

“There is much I should say,” Spock tries, reaching out, finally, to settle his hands over Jim’s. “I do not know how.”

Jim slips his fingers through Spock’s, an intimate gesture which based on the expression on his face, he knows precisely the meaning of. He lifts Spock’s right hand, places his cheek in its palm.

“Show me?”

Drawing in a sharp breath, Spock feels the tingle of his fingertips, Jim’s mind reaching out to him as he brushes over his meld points. It is tempting. A struggle, to force his fingers lower and stroke the line of his jaw instead.

“That… would be unwise.”

“Why?” Jim is frowning again, his emotions conflicted under Spock’s touch. “It’s faster, you don’t have to talk.”

A sliver of jealousy flits through Spock. He knows that his older self melded with Jim on Delta Vega, knows that Jim found the experience overwhelming. He would not be so careless. He dismisses the emotion, files it away to be dealt with during meditation. Jim might treat the meld flippantly, but Spock does not wish to share their minds for something as simple as speeding up conversation.

“I would prefer that when we meld, it is with the intention of forming a bond.”

He keeps his voice even, perfectly controlled, but his heart betrays him with its heavy beating. It is not truly an answer to Jim’s question, but it serves its purpose. Jim’s mouth falls open, his eyes wide in disbelief.

“ _Spock_ ,” he splutters, and sinks down on the bed to sit beside him. Their hands are still connected, falling to their laps. “Is that a- Is that a Vulcan proposal?”

“You are not required to accept.”

Disbelief turns to confusion, Jim opening and closing his mouth like he has forgotten how to produce sound. Spock notices now that his hair is in disarray, sandy blond locks sticking up as if he’d tousled it with his hands on his way to Spock’s quarters. Perhaps later, Jim will allow him to comb it back into place.

They sit side by side, turned towards each other, knees bumping. He waits for Jim’s reply, resisting the urge to explore his hands.

“What happens if I don’t?” is what Jim eventually asks, finding his voice again.

Spock purses his lips, turns his head reluctantly to stare in the direction of his desk. He had wanted to give Jim a choice, but there is not much of a choice, unless he is spared from his Time. His other self had not been.

“Eventually, I would necessarily need to bond with another.”

The face Jim makes is difficult to interpret.

“God, Spock. Okay. Walk me through this. _Why_?”

He shifts, unable to hide his discomfort at the question.

“It has to do with biology.”

“What?”

“Biology.”

“What kind of biology?”

Spock raises his eyes to the ceiling, then turns to meet Jim’s. He looks honestly confused, and Spock cannot help but sigh inwardly.

“Vulcan biology,” he says, causing Jim to bite into his lower lip.

“Spock… are you telling me that the ‘mate’ in bondmate is literal?”

“What I am telling you, Jim,” he starts, narrowing his eyes at the way Jim just barely suppresses laughter, “is that at a certain point in my life bonding will become necessary. However I cannot expect of you to agree, nor do I wish to persuade you against your free will.”

“You haven’t even told me what it means. I can’t make an informed decision if I don’t have all the facts, Spock.”

Pleased with himself, Jim squeezes his hands. Spock’s shields are wavering, easily defeated by the allure of Jim’s emotions. They shift so quickly. He cannot begin to catalogue one before the other appears, taking shape on Jim’s expressive face. Only through careful observation has Spock learnt to interpret Jim with any success, as there is often discrepancy between his words and the emotion inside him.

It’s different from how Vulcans control their emotions and consequently, their expression. Jim can lie with body language, can tell stories with the tone of his voice and the tilt of his mouth. He can exaggerate in order to hide, and only the smallest signs reveal the truth.

Other times, his emotions seem to bleed through so purely that his eyes seem full of them. Right now, Spock can feel the hesitant happiness, the amusement, the gnawing worry. The yearning, that Spock recognizes in himself.

“You are correct,” he replies, stalling. “However, I am reluctant to share these facts.”

“Yeah, I uh, I noticed.”

“Jim.” Spock gazes at their linked hands, then up Jim’s arm, lingering on his neck. The high collar of the overalls hide the sides, but the front is unzipped, showing the hollow of his throat and a hint of collarbone. “We do not speak of it to others. It is a time of mating, yes, but it is also violent. It will strip me of my control, of my logic…”

Jim watches him curiously. There’s no withdrawal, no fear.

“I do not want to hurt you. I have already hurt you enough.”

Immediately, Jim’s face scrunches up in disapproval. He releases one of Spock’s hands, only to cup his face, forcing him to lift his head to meet his gaze. Privately, Spock thinks that even now, even in his quarters on the ship, stars seem to flicker in Jim’s eyes.

“But you would hurt Uhura?”

He’s not sure why Jim would draw such a conclusion.

“Negative. I believe you misunderstand, Jim. I have not discussed such a thing with Nyota, nor would I expect her to accept.”

Leaning back, Jim combs his fingers through his hair, messing it up further. Spock misses the touch, the direct connection to Jim’s emotional state.

“I can’t believe we’re starting this off with discussing crazy mating sex. Look, Spock.” Jim’s hands fall to the mattress, and Spock resists reaching for them. “We can talk about that later, okay? I don’t know if I’d be comfortable doing something like that, say, _tomorrow_ , but if you think I’ll let you just go bond with someone else instead of me then you’re wrong.”

“Jim, if you bond with me you would-“

He pauses when Jim holds up a hand, pursing his lips. Perhaps Jim is right that they can discuss this at a later point in time, however, Spock does not know if he can enter into a relationship with Jim without knowing the answer. It already occupies his mind too often.

“Let’s do things in order,” Jim suggests. He moves further onto the bed, patting the space in front of him for Spock to follow. “Logically, you could say.”

He smiles, and Spock settles cross-legged before him. Their knees brush in this position, and when Jim offers his hands, Spock does not hesitate to take them. He’s not entirely sure what Jim’s plan is, but he has learnt long ago that whatever the content of his plans, it is easier to simply follow along.

“So,” Jim starts, tracing the lines on Spock’s palms. “We’ve pretty much agreed that we both actually want to get married to each other.”

Spock nods, not trusting his voice. The paths drawn by Jim’s fingertips enrapture him, heat building inside his chest.

“You have romantic feelings for me.”

It’s a statement more than a question. Spock swallows, glancing up at Jim. He nods, once. A sigh of relief falls from Jim’s lips, his posture relaxing.

“Good. Great. I mean, so do I. Obviously.”

“It is not obvious, Jim.”

Frowning, Jim slides their palms together. Spock decides not to suppress the stirring in his groin, nor the way his cheeks flush just slightly at the warmth between them.

“I’ve been in love with you since forever.”

“Forever is not-“

A look from Jim silences him. He was only speaking to distract himself from the flutter in his chest, a pointless endeavor. He is in control, still, but he is considering the alternative.

“It _feels_ like forever,” Jim insists, and Spock is helpless to trace the path of his tongue as it darts out to wet his lips. “And I really think you should kiss me. Now.”

Spock glances down at their hands, fingers indecently curled around each other, then back up at Jim’s mouth.

“I surmise you mean the Human way, as we are already engaged in-“

He’s interrupted a third time, Jim raising their clasped hands and pushing Spock back, climbing on top of him once he’s horizontal.

“Absolutely the Human way,” Jim mumbles, pushing Spock’s hands above his head and leaning his weight on his forearms. “No more talking, alright?”

Spock acquiesces with a raised eyebrow, and then Jim descends on him, capturing his lips in an open-mouthed, heated kiss. A thrill rushes through him as he meets him with fervor. Jim is determined, skilled; he twists one hand in Spock’s hair to tilt his head back, controlling him fully. Soft noises spill between them, the weight of Jim’s body pushing down on him a welcome distraction from the doubts plaguing his mind.

He holds on to Jim’s back with his free hand, pulling at the fabric of the overalls he still wears. It is breathtaking, to feel him like this. Their hands clasped intimately, the wet slide of Jim’s tongue along the seam of his lips. He is most eager to see where this goes.

“You,” Jim breathes between kisses, thumb stroking Spock’s cheekbone. “I want you so much, Spock.”

Dragging his hand up Jim’s back, Spock traces the fine hairs on his neck, the line of his jaw, the plumpness of his lower lip. Their eyes meet, a look of understanding, of need. Spock lets out a barely heard sigh, allowing his limbs to relax, to soften under the pressure of his captain. His friend. His everything.

“I am yours,” he says, simply.

The words are not nearly enough to convey the storm of emotion raging underneath his layers of careful control. They do bring a smile to Jim’s face, a tender, almost shy expression that he lowers to rest in the crook of Spock’s neck. He fits there, easily, his body aligned with Spock’s as if sculpted from the same mold. Spock can feel the hum of his mind through their touch, the affection, the joy. He resolves to spend the rest of his life cherishing this man, to spend each day with the sole purpose of keeping him content and safe.

It is enough to hold him. He tilts his head, their cheeks brushing, legs tangled. Their heartbeats find a rhythm together, Jim’s faster in excitement, Spock’s forcefully calm. He would have this moment stretch into infinity, a thought misaligned with logic, but prominent in the poems of old. If Jim had felt his love had already lasted for eternity, then Spock can only foolishly hope that his would last as long.

They spend another moment in grateful silence, and then Jim stiffens, amusement bleeding through.

“Am I getting sand all over your bed?” he asks, the words muffled as they tickle Spock’s throat.

“It is likely.”

Jim snorts out a laugh, and Spock moves his arm to wrap tightly around his middle. There’s still the scent of volcanic sand clinging to Jim’s hair and clothes, but Spock finds he does not mind. Reluctantly he allows Jim to ease up onto his elbows, staring down at Spock with a teasing lilt to the corner of his mouth.

“Perhaps you should help me out of my clothes, before it gets all over.”

“I do believe it is already too late.”

When Jim huffs out a breath of air, gaze flickering to the bulkhead above them for a second, Spock decides that there is no further meaning to pointing out the obvious. He rolls them over, trapping Jim underneath him. There’s that slight hesitance on Jim’s face again, eyes searching Spock’s even as Spock starts unzipping the front of his overalls.

“Regardless,” Spock continues, hand pausing by Jim’s waist. “I am not averse to helping you divest yourself of your clothes. They do seem rather unnecessary at the moment.”

“They do, huh?”

Eyes crinkling at the corners, the warmth of Jim’s wide grin seems to fill Spock to the very core. Jim lifts his hands to trace his fingertips over Spock’s cheeks, ears, down his throat and past the curve of his shoulders.

“How is it, exactly, that you look so good in a t-shirt?” Jim asks with a curious frown. “I never get to see you in just the undershirt.”

“You have seen me in the undershirt before.”

“It _feels_ like never.”

Jim ignores his look of disapproval, instead pushing his fingers up the sleeves of the shirt, hands stroking the naked skin on his shoulders. He goes so far as to reach his collarbones, bunching up the fabric and most likely stretching it.

“You may take it off if you wish.”

Humming to himself, Jim’s hands run down Spock’s arms, then back up again, tugging playfully at the dark fabric.

“Maybe leave it on, just a bit longer?” He stares up at Spock from underneath his lashes, lips thinning briefly in a clear attempt to stave off laughter. “It’s just, your arms look really good. And-“

“Jim,” Spock interrupts him with, lowering his hips until Jim’s eyes widen in realization. “Earlier, you expressed the words ‘no more talking’. I believe it prudent for you to follow your own suggestion.”

“Why, Mr. Spock.” Jim is definitely laughing now, the blue of his eyes almost overtaken by the dark of his pupils. “I believe it prudent for you to _make me_.”

Spock, for his part, can see the logic in that.

☆☆☆☆☆

Jim stands on the observation deck, the stars unnervingly slow-moving as they’re docked for a final check-over before returning to Earth. The end of their mission, arrived just like that. He crosses his arms, telling himself that he shouldn’t be feeling so nostalgic over all the near-death (and full-death) experiences he’s shared with his crew the past years. But there were good times, too, and he’s proud of all that they’ve accomplished together. Every crewmember leaving the Enterprise will do so with outstanding reviews, a painstaking load of paperwork that he completed with utmost care.

“Captain?”

He glances back over a shoulder, smiling weakly at Uhura as she approaches.

“You caught me,” he says, and the answering smile on her face is kind. “I’m trying to get to terms with this whole thing ending.”

“You’ll be back out there in no time,” she assures him, knocking an elbow into his side. “And if not, give us a call and we’ll come bail you out.”

“Good to know.”

They stare out at the vastness of space in comfortable silence for a while. Any worries he’d held that Uhura would be unhappy with his and Spock’s approaching union had died the moment she rolled her eyes and commented _finally_ when they confessed to having entered into a real romantic relationship. Bones, of course, had at first pretended to be incredibly upset and betrayed that they were done with the whole fake marriage thing to thwart the politicians. After that he’d held his hand out to Sulu and Scotty, accepting the grumbled transfer of credits as he’d apparently won the standing bet.

“Everything settled with your assignment on Denobula?”

Uhura nods, straightening up with some pride.

“All cleared. Don’t tell me you’ll miss me.”

“Oh, never. Of course, I fully expect to have the best Communications Officer in the ‘Fleet back when I get my next assignment.”

“We’ll see,” she teases with a smile.

“I mean,” he can’t help but tease back, “the princess was hot, but not _that_ hot, right?”

She glares at him, and he narrowly avoids another elbow, this time of the more punishing sort.

“I was going to say something nice, and you had to go and show your true colors. I have no idea what Spock sees in you.”

“His taste in partners is truly a mystery.” He yelps, rubbing at his upper arm where her fist made sure contact. “You’re lucky Bones didn’t see that, he’s threatened to hypo anyone who dares touch me wrong with that experimental new vaccine he’s working on.”

“I think what he actually said was that he’ll hypo _you_ with it if you dare get hurt again this close to the end of the mission.”

He rolls his eyes, but can’t help smiling.

“Same thing.”

“Not even close.”

The doors to the observation deck hiss open again, and they both turn to see Spock making his way towards them. He raises an eyebrow at the silly grins they’re both sporting, but wisely refrains from asking.

“Captain, estimated point of completion in 3.2 hours. I have asked all departments to have their reports ready before then.”

“Thanks, Spock.”

Uhura gives him a knowing look, but he doesn’t bother wiping off the giddy expression on his face at the sight of his soon-to-be husband.

“I’ll leave you two to talk shop,” she says, taking a few steps towards the doors before pausing. “Oh, and Spock? Get to it.”

Jim looks between them, confused when Spock tenses. He does give her a nod, and only then does she turn back to leave, waving a hand at them in goodbye.

“Get to what?” he asks immediately once the doors slide shut behind her.

Spock doesn’t sigh – he never does, not out loud – but something resigned passes over his face. He doesn’t object when Jim closes the distance between them, brushing fingers over the back of his hand. He stares out through the view screen until Jim links their fingers, relieved when Spock accepts the touch despite their semi-public setting.

“She was referring to a matter I wish to discuss with you.”

“Oh. Right. Well, hit me.”

The fact that Spock doesn’t comment on his illogical phrasing is telling. Instead he watches Jim with something akin to reluctance, and the stubborn set of his jaw could mean a multitude of things.

“After the marital ceremony, you have agreed to accompany me to New Vulcan,” he says.

“Yes?”

“It has come to my attention that perhaps we should postpone our visit there for a more pressing matter.”

“A more pressing matter.”

“Affirmative.”

Jim gnaws on the inside of his cheek. He’s not sure if Spock is being deliberately evasive, or if he’s trying to show some consideration to Jim’s Human sensibilities by approaching the matter slowly. The end result is that he rolls back on his heels, barely refraining from grabbing Spock and begging him to just spit it out.

“ _What_ matter, Spock?”

Spock folds his hands behind his back, squaring his shoulders. He’s staring at a spot somewhere past Jim’s right shoulder, and is that… a blush?

“The matter of our honeymoon.”

“The…” Jim trails off, mouthing the rest of the sentence soundlessly. He remembers the time they spent in that cave, how he’d offhandedly mentioned it just to see Spock’s reaction. He hadn’t expected anything, hell, he hadn’t even made a suggestion that they take some time off before heading off to New Vulcan so Spock could spend some time assisting with an experiment or five at the new science academy. He’d mostly just been happy to get off Earth fast so the admiralty couldn’t make him do annoying diplomatic stuff right away.

“Nyota and Doctor McCoy were quite clear in their suggestions.”

“Uh-huh.” He searches Spock’s face, takes a step closer so that Spock is forced to meet his eyes. “And they convinced you it was logical to take a vacation?”

“More or less.”

“You mean they threatened you.”

Spock frowns, tilting his head the way he does when Jim is being particularly illogical but somehow also right.

“Vulcans do not make decisions based on threats.”

“Alright.” He wraps his arms loosely around Spock’s neck, grinning at him. “So where are we going?”

“I shall abide by any destination you have in mind, Jim.”

“You mean you told them that we were already going to New Vulcan and it would be illogical to go somewhere else first, and they got mad at you.”

“Your ability to accurately guess the turn of events is uncanny, Captain.”

“I know _you_ , that’s all.” He plants a big kiss on Spock’s mouth, satisfied with the minute loosening of Spock’s limbs. “I’m sure we can find some place that’s both romantic and intellectually stimulating. Wouldn’t want to disappoint our friends, would we?”

Spock finally drops out of parade rest, resting his hands gently on Jim’s hips.

“I do not understand why they would be disappointed should we fail to participate in what they believe to be a proper honeymoon.”

“But you do understand that we’ll be able to spend most of it in bed, right?”

The frown is still present between Spock’s brows, and it’s endlessly amusing to Jim.

“A most illogical use of our time.”

Jim drags his hands through Spock’s hair, making a satisfying mess of it, before pushing the pad of one thumb onto the spot between Spock’s eyebrows to smoothen out his expression. He kisses the corner of his mouth, the soft skin underneath his jaw, the side of his throat.

“That’s not what you said last night,” he mumbles through another kiss just below his ear, feeling Spock failing to suppress a small shiver of pleasure.

“Yes, however.” As Jim starts mouthing at his neck in earnest, Spock’s fingers clench around the curve of his hips. “There is a significant difference between having sexual intercourse after a shift, and the deliberate planning of spending several weeks in a new environment yet refraining from venturing outside of the bedroom.”

Biting into Spock’s collarbone, Jim takes a second to push down the urge to suggest they could always combine the exploring with sexual intercourse.

“I’m sure I’ll be able to convince you,” he says instead, leaning back to see Spock’s deliberately neutral expression.

“I have no doubt you will try.”

“Maybe I’ll start right now.”

He leans in to taste Spock again, but is stopped by gentle hands pushing his hips away.

“As we are not yet in the bedroom, please refrain for the time being.”

Jim gives him a long stare, then looks towards the doors leading into the observation deck.

“Computer, lock door. Authorization code Kirk-Alpha-Epsilon-3-8-5.”

“Jim.”

“Spock.”

Heartbeat speeding up, Jim pushes his hands underneath Spock’s uniform shirt, slowly pushing it up. He eyes the revealed skin with a pleased hum, flicking Spock’s nipples on the way up.

“I think you should take off your shirt, Spock,” he says, licking his lips. “Captain’s orders.”

To his great surprise, Spock agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you had as much fun reading as I had writing it!!


End file.
